THE OLD HOMESTEAD
A friend recently sent me a picture from back home in rural Quebec where I was born. She had told me that she was sending a picture of the house in which I grew up. I was indeed shocked and disheartened to see that the picture was that of an empty lot. My parents, now dead, had left this home in 1987. On visits back to Quebec, I would always drive by the property and sit in front of it, remembering moments of happiness, sometimes sadness, mostly contentment and things as they once were. With fifty acres to roam about, it was a young boy’s delight! Playing in the woods, building forts, exploring bugs, quietly viewing sightings of wild animals all filled my mind of a time that was pre-adulthood, jobs, working, mortgages and responsibility. The house was also special because my father had built it with his own two hands. Those were the days before pre-fab houses or builder developments. Finished in 1949, it was a home for a family of four boys who were able to have their own baseball diamond in the summer and their private hockey rink in the winter. In 1960, my father, again on his own, constructed a motel on the same property hoping to become part of the tourist industry in the Eastern Townships of Quebec. Many people from all parts of Canada, the United States, Europe and more lodged in our accommodations as they travelled the highway on their journeys. Expo 67 and the 76 Montreal Olympics flooded the area with visitors. It was an exciting time, a time of meeting new people, developing an awareness of the world apart from one’s own small perimeters and growing up. As each son left home to begin new lives, time passed. New interests filled our hearts and our own families came into being. My parents moved and began a retirement phase. The property was sold and re-sold a few times but one never forgets where they come from. Now, I sit looking at a photo of a once vibrant homestead and business demolished, and razed. I cannot help but feel my eyes misting and know that only those truly connected to this property will remember. My father and mother’s visible legacy is gone. Only those who knew them or our family will remember, and, as with the cycle of life, eventually that will fade and be replaced by new memories and stories. For some, it will be as if nothing ever existed. But the good news is that the spirit of people and their lives are found in remembrance. We continue rituals, expressions, jokes, familiar stories and actions because they are part of who we are. It often will prompt people who remember to say, “You are your father’s son!” or “your mother will never be dead as long as you’re around”! Our upbringing, no matter the circumstances, shapes us. There are stories of people on their deathbeds offering words of wisdom to those left behind, reminding them to do things, to take care of people who are in need and to continue what they have begun. I guess basically they are saying, “Do these things in remembrance of me”. Am I saddened by the demolition of the old homestead? Absolutely! Will it diminish the memory of what it meant to me or the shaping of who I am today? Absolutely not! We rise through remembering! Remember. Je me souviens!
James (Jim) Dunn
Blesséd Blending
April 6, 2016